


Small, Beautiful Events

by helcinda



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Doctor Who, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-12
Updated: 2013-12-12
Packaged: 2018-01-04 10:16:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1079784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helcinda/pseuds/helcinda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blaine is stuck in New York for Christmas, until someone crash-lands on his roof.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Small, Beautiful Events

**Author's Note:**

> Doctor Who!AU inspired by this gifset: http://guswaters.tumblr.com/post/45697829794/theres-a-man-called-the-doctor-he-lives-on-a

 

“I am and always will be the optimist. The hoper of far-flung hopes and the dreamer of improbable dreams.” - The Almost People

* * *

Monday morning dawns cold and gray, the light barely filtering through the blinds.  On instinct, Blaine rolls over to check his alarm clock, only to find it sitting dark on his nightstand.  The streets are eerily silent, and a quick look out the window shows the world muffled in snow and ice.  

He snuggles back into bed before methodically checking the news, the weather, and his flight status.  The first phone call is to a harried airline representative who is sympathetic but unable to get him to Los Angeles before the 27th.  She calls him sweetheart and Blaine tries not to cry.

The second is to his mom.

“Blaine, honey, are you at the airport yet?  We’re just sitting down for our coffee and can’t wait to see you!”

“Uh, Mom? I’m...not going to make it for Christmas.”  Blaine scrubs a hand over his forehead and scrunches his eyes closed.

“Oh, Blaine, what happened?”

“The storm they said was coming over Christmas came early, I guess.  The trains and buses aren’t running and the airport is closed.  The airline said they couldn’t rebook before the 27th.”  He clears his throat reflexively.  “Tell Dad and Cooper I love them and I’m sorry.”

There’s quiet voices on the other end, probably his mom relaying the information to everyone else.  “Honey, I’m so sorry, are you going to be okay? Don’t feel bad; we’ll miss you terribly but it’s not your fault.  I’m just worried about you.  Do you have power?  Is there any food or can you get some?”

Blaine burrows a little deeper under the covers.  “I’m fine right now, the news said they’re working on power everywhere.  I’ve got lots of blankets, though, so I’ll just stay in bed for awhile.”

His mom still sounds worried.  “But are they going to get to you today?  Blankets are fine for awhile, but it’s going to start getting cold.”

Blaine smiles despite himself.  “I promise, Mom, I’ll be fine.  They know how to handle this kind of stuff.  I’ll call the Chinese restaurant later today and see if they’re open.  I’m just going to miss you guys.”

“We know, sweetheart.  We’ll miss you too; we’re all a little worried.  Let us know as soon as the power is back on, and we’ll get Cooper to set up the computer so we can spend Christmas morning together.”

Despite his best efforts to hold them back, tears spring to Blaine’s eyes.  “That sounds great, Mom.  Keep me updated, okay?  I’ll just pretend I’m right there with you.”

“I will, sweetie.  We love you.  Call back if you want but don’t kill your battery until you can recharge it.”

“I love you guys, too.”

Blaine wipes the last of the tears out of his eyes and places his phone face-down on his nightstand so he’s not tempted to wear down the battery playing games and checking Facebook.  (Facebook would just make him feel worse, so it’s probably better this way.)  He stares at the wall for a moment, trying to think of any other way he could get to Los Angeles.  Short of hitchiking (and probably getting horribly killed), it’s not looking promising.

Sighing, Blaine rolls over and takes advantage of not being able to leave his apartment by taking a nap without setting an alarm.  It’s almost too quiet to sleep, but he occupies himself by planning on cashing in his credit with the airline for a surprise trip home for New Years, and before he knows it he’s drifting off to the sound of wind whipping around the corner of the building.

He wakes some time later to a series of loud crashes coming from the roof.  He’s almost convinced himself to stay in bed until he remembers he very well may be alone in the building and he doesn’t particularly want to wait to see what the consequences of loud crashing noises from the roof may be on a day like today.

He rolls out of bed and shivers as soon as he registers the chill of the apartment, pulls on a variety of layers without really bothering to pay attention to what he’s wearing, shoves his feet into someone’s snow boots sitting by the front door, and takes a deep breath before wrenching open the rusted stairwell door to the roof.

Blaine isn’t really sure what he’s expecting to see when he walks outside, but it definitely isn’t a large blue box with a light on top.  The door creaks open and a man steps out, looking around like he’s not sure where he is.

“ _Bonjour_!” he says cheerfully.  “ _Je ne peux pas croire qu’il y a de la neige!_ ”

And Blaine took Spanish in high school, so he responds with a hesitant, “Hello?”

The man’s face falls for a moment.  “Oh, am I not in Paris?”

“No,” Blaine says slowly.  “You’re in New York.”

  
“Oh, New York!,” the other man says, clapping his hands briskly.  “I love New York!  Quite a storm you’ve got here, and you don’t look at all properly dressed to be out in it right now,” he adds, giving Blaine an appraising look.

Blaine shrugs, glancing down at the collection of clothes he managed to put on before he left the apartment.  “The power’s out, I was cold.  Who are you and how did you get on my roof?”

“I’m so sorry, I got distracted and lost control for a bit, and, well, this is where we ended up.  I’ll be out of your way in just a moment.”

Blaine wraps his arms around himself.  “But...how?  And what is that thing?  Who _are_ you?”

The man turns back from where he’s running his hand along the faded blue paint.  “I’m the Doctor.  And this is my TARDIS.  You look cold, would you like to step inside and warm up a little bit?”

Blaine rolls his eyes.  “Are you going to tell me there’s some candy in there, too?  I have no idea how you ended up here, but there is no way I’m going to blindly follow you into a blue box that was apparently mysteriously transported _onto my roof_.”

The man - the Doctor, apparently - presses his lips together and looks up at the sky.  “Suit yourself,” he says, “but I think you may not have much of a choice in the matter.”

“What?” Blaine turns around and tugs on the door handle, which doesn’t budge.  “Where’s - where’s the door stop? It was here last weekend!”

The Doctor (of _what_? ) looks up from where he’s poking around the overturned patio furniture.  “I think I may have found it,” he taps a mound of ice with his foot, “in here.”

“Fuck fuck _fuck_ ,” Blaine yells, pounding uselessly on the door.  This day just keeps getting better and better.  “Okay.  Okay.”  He takes a deep breath to calm down.  “I have my keys, I’ll just have to go down the fire escape.  Good luck with getting your blue box off my roof, but I’m going inside.”  He carefully makes his way over to the fire escape, but as soon as he wraps his hand around the rail, he realizes the entire thing is covered in a thick layer of ice, and no way is he climbing down this death trap two days before Christmas.  “Crap,” he mutters.

“Need a lift?” the Doctor calls out.  Blaine looks up to see him hanging out of the door of his blue box, smiling cheerfully.

“ _How_?” Blaine asks, already inching across the icy roof to where the box is sitting.

“Come inside and I’ll show you.”  And with that, he disappears, the squeaky door clapping shut behind him.

Blaine stands in the wind for a few moments, contemplating the pros and cons of actually attempting the fire escape route.  Eventually, though, his practical nature and the wind cutting through his thin layers gets the better of him, and he cautiously grasps the cold handle and pushes the door open.

And it’s _huge_.   With buttons and levers and stairs and what look like _hallways_  reaching beyond the room Blaine is currently standing in.  Inside a box slightly larger than a refrigerator box but also _not_.

And standing in the middle of all of it is this stranger, who, in all reality, is probably going to kidnap Blaine right this instant and he’ll miss _Christmas_ , and before he can get a grip on himself, he slides right down the wall to sit, hard, on the floor.  For the second time today, he finds himself fighting back tears, because now he’ll probably never see his family again.

“Hey, hey, what’s this?”  There’s a quiet voice and a shadow and a handkerchief suddenly in his line of vision, and Blaine just presses his lips together and takes the offered handkerchief while shaking his head, unwilling to trust his voice right now.

After a moment, he lifts his head to see the other man still crouched next to him, his brow creased with worry.  He’s shed his heavy coat and is wearing a full tuxedo, and Blaine stares for a full minute before finding his voice.  “Thanks.  I just - I’m supposed to spend Christmas with my family, and I’m stuck here with this storm.  You’re awfully dressed up,” he points out.

“Yes, well - Paris.” The man gives him a rueful smile, then bounds across the room and starts pushing buttons and moving levers around, occasionally glancing back to where Blaine is still sitting clutching the handkerchief.

A moment later, he’s back, plucking the white linen out of Blaine’s fist and offering him a hand up.  “Shall we?”

* * *

 

Blaine gets lost three different times trying to get back to the main room where the Doctor - Kurt, apparently, and really how many names can one person have? - is waiting.

He finally finds the correct doorway, emerging to see Kurt sitting off to the side reading, his legs propped up on the rail.  He clears his throat a little self-consciously, crossing towards the door.  Kurt kicks his feet down, tossing the book off to the side.  “Blaine, you look fantastic.”

Blaine shrugs a coat on as they leave, Kurt locking the door behind them.  They stroll down the Champs-Elysees, the lights making the entire city feel like a fairy tale.  The shop windows are all decorated brightly, and every time Kurt turns to point out something new, the lights reflect in his eyes and Blaine never wants this night to end.  Paris is the last place he expected to be, but after he got over the fact that his worst fears came true and Kurt acutally _kidnapped him_ , he is grateful he’s not alone in an empty, cold apartment at Christmas.

They eat at a small cafe near the river, Blaine talking about his studies and Kurt, in turn, tells him about sneaking in to opening night performances of various Broadway shows.  Blaine instantly wants to know every detail, because another story in a long line of tipsy karaoke nights has nothing on these kinds of things.

The air has gotten colder once they’ve left, but Blaine barely notices.  They cross the river and make their way down to the Eiffel Tower, shining like a beacon in the dark.  The tower is closed by the time they get there, and Blaine works to hide his disappointment.  He is in Paris, after all, the last place he thought he’d find himself tonight.  He walks underneath the tower, staring up at the delicate ironwork, looking like lace patterns against the lights.  Kurt’s hand on his draws his attention, stops him short.

“I’m sorry,” Kurt says, curling his fingers around Blaine’s.

Blaine smiles.  “Don’t apologize, this is already amazing.  I just can’t believe I’m here.”

Kurt tugs his hand, smiling back.  His smile is as bright as the lights surrounding them, and Blaine’s breath catches in his throat.  “Let’s go, the night’s not over yet.”

Kurt doesn’t drop his hand until they reach the blue box (the TARDIS, Kurt called it, though it seems a simple name for an impossible thing), and Blaine is grateful for the connection on this cold night.  A moment later, Kurt is stepping away from the console in the middle of the room, the smile on his face tinged with sadness.  “It looks like you’re getting more snow tonight; I couldn’t make it all the way to the street.  There’s a ladder.  Blaine, I - thank you.  For not demanding I take you back home right away.  I don’t normally just steal people away from their homes - okay, that’s a bit of a lie, I do do that sometimes.  Sometimes, though, it’s better with someone, and I -”

Blaine smiles, pushing himself away from where he’s leaning against the door.  He takes Kurt’s hand and kisses his knuckles.  “I was happy to be with you.  Once I, you know, recovered from the shock of being transported to _France_  in under five minutes.”

Kurt laughs out loud, a bright burst of sound in the quiet surroundings, and it shocks a matching laugh from Blaine.  He lifts his hand, still cradled in Blaine’s, returning the gentle kiss to the back of Blaine’s hand.  “I should let you get back inside.  Someone will probably be worrying,” he says quietly, eyes trained on their linked hands.

“They can wait a few moments longer,” Blaine replies softly.

After another moment, Kurt straightens, clearing his throat and smiling a little, thought it doesn’t reach his eyes like it had earlier in the evening ( _in Paris!_  Blaine’s brain screams).  “Keep the tux,” he says, tugging on the lapel a little.  “It suits you.”

“I - thank you, Kurt.  For everything.”

Kurt wasn’t kidding about the ladder, it turns out.  Blaine makes his way down carefully, taking care not to let his dress shoes slip on the cold rungs.  He digs his keys out of his pocket, glancing up one last time to where he knows Kurt is, though he can’t see anything through the thick cloud cover.  He’s just about to step off the curb when he hears his name called.

Looking up, he sees Kurt leap off the last run of the ladder, slipping in the snow as he lands.  “Blaine, wait,” he calls again.  “I’m sorry, I just - can you stay? Just a little longer?”

Blaine tucks his keys back in his pocket, nodding as he turns back around.  “I can.  I want to.”

Kurt just smiles and climbs back up the ladder without waiting to see if Blaine will follow him.

When Blaine reaches the top of the ladder, he can hear faint music floating out of the open doors of the TARDIS.  The lights are muted in the stillness of the night, and here above the clouds, he can see the stars, lit against the distant dark of the sky.  And Kurt, lit only by the glow of the faint lights, looks ethereal, like Blaine just tripped over a cloud and found an angel.

And then he laughs at himself, because how melodramatic and cliched can his inner dialogue be?

Kurt doesn’t say a word, just reaches for Blaine’s hands and swings him into his arms, falling naturally into a slow waltz.  Blaine stays quiet as well, letting himself be led, and feels like he’s floating.  After a moment, he rests his head on Kurt’s shoulder, stepping closer to Kurt’s warmth.  He wants this to last forever.  He wants every Christmas to be like this, his handsome, mysterious stranger sweeping him away from his life for just a moment in time.  He doesn’t want Kurt to leave.

* * *

 

When he gets home, the power is back on.  He texts his mom _ I’m back. Love you_, and falls asleep with a smile on his face and Kurt’s pocket square on his nightstand.

 


End file.
